Note: not beta edited for a faster update! Sorry if there are mistakes

Chapter 18 – Meat Pies

A sudden racket stirred Draco from his sleep. Propping himself on his elbows, he blinked hard, smacking his lips at the dryness in his mouth. His head was spinning as he became conscious of a sound behind his bed curtains. He moved about in his sheets, patting blindly underneath his pillow. Wand in hand, he waited. The curtains had barely slid open when he gripped the intruder by the arm, directing his wand at them.

"Ouch!" a female voice exclaimed. Recognizing Hermione in the moonlight, Draco released his tight grip.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, dazed.

"What's going on?" a drowsy voice called several beds away. In a mad rush, Draco lugged Hermione into his bed and pulled together the curtains to conceal her.

"It's just me," Draco replied, hastily muttering a silencing spell. He fluffed his pillows, removing any clumps with his fingers, and reclined against the bed frame. Letting out a soft whistle, he finally acknowledged that Hermione was barely clad in a long satin nightgown. The deep neckline had a ruffled tulle trim and the waist was cinched in with a peach ribbon tying in the back. She instantly attempted to cover herself by adjoining the front of her jacket.

"Knickers will do as attire the next time you come groping in the dark for me," he remarked.

Even in the dark, Hermione could sense him leering at her. She cursed herself for not dressing more appropriately before leaving. Draco Malfoy, always the charmer, she thought sarcastically. She sincerely hoped he couldn't see her blushing.

"Why are you still in your robes?" Hermione asked, observing his outfit from the party, now creased.

"Would you prefer me in the buff?" he responded.

"Must you always twist everything I say?" she hissed, jabbing him on the arm reproachfully.

"I was tired. I didn't feel like changing," Draco said in a monotonous voice, closing his eyes to soothe his headache. Hermione snorted.

"More like severely pissed," Hermione rebuked at the whisky stench on his breath. "How much did you drink?"

"Abraxas had some to spare," Draco responded, observing her hand with burning curiosity as she rummaged deep in the bag she was carrying. She pulled out a green vial.

"I wasn't aware you lead a double life, Granger," he commented, taking a sip of the potion, "Carrying around pick-me-up solutions for when you're sloshed."

"It's handy for studying late," Hermione informed him crossly, somewhat wound up at his implication. She snatched the empty vial back from him.

"Are you planning on telling me why you're here?" Draco asked, "Not that your company isn't agreeable, Granger, but I'm all tuckered out."

"I had a brilliant idea at the party," Hermione blurted with a devious grin. From the mere thought of it, her hands clutched his comforter.

"What?" he asked, sitting up. She soundlessly slipped away from the bed, making him growl. Keeping the sound of his footsteps to a minimum, he grudgingly left the comfort of his bed and caught up with her. He pondered what could have made her keen as mustard to come running to his bedside. His pupils dilated, hopeful that Hermione had decided to let down her hair and make wild, passionate love to him. "How did you get in here by the way?"

"Being bladdered does not make your daftness excusable," Hermione noted in a hushed whisper, as they left the Slytherin rooms. "I am Head Girl," she emphasized, ascending the staircase to the main floor with restless energy.

"Do tell me where we're heading at 2 in the morning, if not the kitchens," Draco murmured, not at all enticed by this plan plucked randomly out of thin air.

"Oh shush Malfoy, we both know you're not so prim and proper," Hermione said, making a sharp turn and treading outside the castle.

"Are you completely off your trolley?" Draco asked, heaving his hair. While he may have never been part of the Golden Trio (thank heavens for that), he was confident the law-abiding head girl didn't break rules willy-nilly without exhaustive planning.

"I'm finding answers," Hermione said in an assured tone, ignoring Draco's unnecessary dramatics and hastening until they were bordering the Forbidden Forest. The tall, monstrous, imposing trees groaned with the wind.

"Oh no, you said nothing about any jaunt in there," Draco said, frowning at her blithe disregard for danger.

"Awwnnh," Hermione whined, looking shrewdly at Draco, "Is Drakie wakie frightened?"

"We shouldn't enter without a plan," he said, "What do you intend on doing? Flying by the seat of your pants?"

"You sound like –," Hermione began saying.

"You," Draco finished, trying to knock some sense into her.

"Exactly," she said, overlooking the attack on her character, "We must think outside the box." Draco thwarted any further advancement from her by yanking her arm in the opposite direction.

Dragging her feet into the ground, she threatened him, "The moment we pass those doors, I'll scream my head off." With a devilish smile, she added, "Being benched for the Hufflepuff game wouldn't sit too well with you."

"You wouldn't," Draco muttered in consternation, stopping dead in his spot and looking at her with an incredulous expression.

"Oh, I would," Hermione said with all the resolve needed to deter his Quidditch hopes in a puff of smoke.

"Fine," he hissed, removing the cloak he had grabbed on his way out, and passing it to her. When she politely declined, he ordered, "Take it."

She donned the cloak, leaving him chilled to the bone and fraught at having the nicety to strike the right note with her. "If I die from hypothermia or get touched by any creature, I'll haunt you for the rest of eternity."

"Quit whining," she grumbled, whipping out her wand as a precaution prior to stepping into the pitch-black, murky forest.

Draco stood still, shouldered aside a soft-peeling birch tree, rubbing his forehead testily. "Why do I always fall for the nutters?" Withdrawing his wand, he darted to catch up with her before she could fade away into the thick throng of stately trees.

"What do you intend on finding? A souvenir for your friend, the stupid oaf in the hut?" Draco asked, chortling. His wand slashed in the air, hacking the cobwebbed, thorny bushes in his way. "I reckon he's seen it all." She threw him a dirty look, which was in his nature to ignore. "What do you suppose we'll do if we encounter those mammoth spiders I've heard about?"

"I doubt Aragog has mated yet," Hermione said, swapping at the pesky flies teeming over her head. "Poor Hagrid is still in Azkaban," she informed him, leaving him speculating how the latter was a logical explanation.

"Aragog?" Draco enunciated. He was unsure if he should be relieved or disconcerted from her being on a first-name basis with large, atrocious spiders. The swaying canopy of leaves obscured the starry sky, making their surroundings darker and darker by the minute. "And if there's a troll?"

"Comment on the weather," Hermione joked, shifting a drooping bough away from her face. He started to carp incoherently about Gryffindors, until he was whipped in the chest by a branch. Hearing his low whimper, she hid her triumphant smile.

"Well if done civilly – not that you know anything about politeness, I'm positive we could reason with him logically for our safe return," Hermione said, enjoying every second of his perturbed state. He was geared up to launch into another tirade of insults when she clamped her hand over his mouth, "You'll awaken every being here if you keep up with this rant."

He shut his mouth at once and remained tight-lipped as they struggled onward through the forest. Upon reaching a clearing, Draco nearly ran into her back when she halted abruptly.

"Don't say anything rude," she warned, "Or I'll happily let them carry you off like Umbridge." He blanched, realizing who she was talking about. On cue, several centaurs emerged from the bushes with arrows directed at them.

"You are trespassing," said the abrasive leader, approaching Hermione and Draco. "This is no place for humans."

"Must have made a wrong turn," Draco said, flashing his thirty-two pearly white teeth and tugging Hermione by the sleeve, "We'll be on our way out." His day was shaping out to be a disaster of epic proportions; both Hermione and the centaurs were being pig-headed and refusing to move. His mum had always claimed he'd be struck down by the killing curse, should he ever feel smitten for a muggle-born. While she may have been right about there being a penance, it was going to be delivered by half-breeds instead.

"Have you not seen who they are?" voiced a brazen centaur, emerging from the front line and shielding them from harm. Both students instantly recognized him as Firenze. He moved to Hermione, lifting her chin towards the moonlight for all centaurs to see. Several in the crowd shifted nervously at the sight of her face.

"No harm can come to those from the future," Firenze insisted, his voice authoritative and piercing. A few lowered their weapons, giving Hermione a mystified look. The rest hesitated, glancing at their leader, who signalled their weapons to be lowered.

In what oddly resembled respect, the leader gazed at Hermione. "The forest is not safe." Draco sniggered, giving Hermione an accusatory look. "I suggest you leave at once," he said, beginning to depart followed by his pack.

"Wait!" Hermione cried out, chasing after Firenze. Bedevilled by her madness, both of Draco's hands grabbed his hair. Clearly, she was trying to get them killed. Firenze turned to look upon Hermione, while his leader resolved to join his side.

"How do you know who we are?" Hermione asked. "You must know what we're here to do."

"It has already begun," the leader replied blankly, studying the stars.

"What has?" Hermione enquired, feeling like she was grasping at straws.

"The prophecy will be fulfilled in time, now you have found the other," Firenze replied, staring at Hermione. The mention of a 'prophecy' was nastier than a dung bomb.

"What prophecy?" Hermione asked with a sense of looming dread. For once, she could relate to Harry and the glooming sentiment of having one's fate sealed. "Found who?"

"The boy with the curse," the leader responded.

"Tom," Hermione muttered to herself. "You mean Tom Riddle, my equal?" The centaurs gave no response, while Draco merely gaped at her, clearly taken aback. "What does the prophecy say?"

"The sacrifice of life will be made before the end," Firenze said quietly.

"Crikes," Draco swore. "I don't suppose you could drop a hint as who it may be?"

"It is inevitable," the leader said all too frankly, clearly not perturbed from being the bearer of bad news. Hermione shuddered at the notion of either her or Draco dying. "I would advise you not to return here again. We do not have the answers you seek. You must find them on your own." The centaurs nodded at both students and wandered further into the forest. Hermione and Draco watched their forms retreating slowly into the shadows.

A disturbance in the bushes nearby made Draco's hair stand on end, and he tapped Hermione's shoulder warily, "We should leave." Hermione nodded passively, busy recapping the centaurs' words as they began leaving the forest.

Putting her thinking cap on, it was awhile before she spoke but when she did, it was with precision. "Dumbledore," she said, stopping and applying a gentle pressure to Draco's arm.

With a sigh, he took a step back and gazed at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to get as far as possible from here," Draco said, gesturing to the trees.

Hermione complained, "Good grief, you must make a rotten Death Eater."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. His jaw dropped and he gawked at her. "Don't you go making me out to be some cantankerous berk like Weasel." Highly unimpressed, she rolled her eyes. "I'll have you know that I am an exceptional-"

"Sub-par," she corrected.

"Former Death Eater," Draco finished, on a higher note.

"Pardon me," Hermione said, "Draco Malfoy. Title, Ex Death Eater." She walked away, taking long strides whilst ridiculing him and pumping her fist in the air, "Facing danger head on! Running from centaurs and the shadows under his bed."

Draco halted immediately, his brow creased. "Are you mocking me, Granger?"

"Keep up, will you?" she criticized, stealing a glance at him over her shoulder.

"I'm beginning to think I've had a rather bad influence on you," Draco remarked, keeping in step with her, "Good heavens, what will Scar Head and Rags make out of it." She whacked him on the arm and gave a disapproving cluck of her tongue.

"Concentrate! Dumbledore," Hermione repeated with sound determination as though repetition would cause the old wally to drop from the heavens bearing answers.

"Right," Draco said, yawning, "What about him?"

"He sent us here knowing about the prophecy," she thought aloud. In a burst of excitement, she exclaimed, "That's what he was discussing with Dippet!" Her fingers enclosed tightly around his arm. He observed her with a quirked eyebrow. Hermione explained anxiously, "When Tom performed the spell, one of his memories showed him overhearing a conversation between Dumbledore and Dippet." Her face lighted up. "His misfortune, our opportunity."

"Glad you're accepting your inner Slytherin," Draco chortled.

Hermione ignored him, continuing in an avid voice, "They mentioned Tom's equal was at Hogwarts."

"Meaning Dumbledore might already know the prophecy," Draco concluded.

"Yes," she chirped with a huge grin, ecstatic they had finally made a huge step forward. She glanced at Draco, only to find him not equally satisfied. "You've known about this, haven't you?" He didn't respond and walked with his head lowered.

"Unbelievable," Hermione said, full of bitterness. It was her entitlement to know about a prophecy concerning her, even more so if it included Voldemort. Taking a deep breath, she tried to rationalize the logic behind the secrecy. Her voice was a hint more relaxed when she said to Draco, "I don't blame you."

He gave her a long sideway glance, saying, "I know. If it helps, I don't know the prophecy in its entirety."

"The unbreakable vow?" she asked. He gave a quick nod. They continued their trek in peace, throwing wary glances here and there until the castle came into sight.

"How did you give Tom the slip when leaving your room?" Draco asked.

"He may be inhumanely perfect, but I doubt he'd stay up at this ungodly hour," Hermione commented, "Villains need their rest as well"

"Says the innocent and naïve," Draco drawled, sounding as though he was an authoritative source on the topic. "World domination simply doesn't come at the snap of one's fingers."

"How selfish and unkind of me! To think I could effortlessly walk in," Hermione said, her voice spewing with sarcasm, "God forbid I interrupt his train of thought." she snickered, a smile sneaking its way onto her lips. "He might turn me into a meat pie and serve it at the Slytherin table tomorrow at lunch."

Draco's brow raised and he gave her a long scrutinizing look, "You really have a morbid sense of humour."

She laughed at his appalled face, "I reckoned it would be a winning attribute in a Slytherin's eyes. It's from Sweeney Todd."

Draco stared at Hermione, aghast, pointing to his chest, and emphasizing, "Pureblood."

She gave a loud snicker of derision. "I assumed you'd have an acquired taste in muggleborn tales considering you're a closet fan of muggleborn love songs." He glared at her, recalling that he had made his awareness of muggleborn music quite public.

On the defensive, he said, "They're half decent. I still prefer wizarding music." Taking notice of the ends of her smile reaching her ears, he warned her, "One word to your bosom buddies, and I'll do worse than a meat pie."

"Don't fret," she said, smirking, "Your larger than life ego is enough to keep your reputation in tact."

Looking at her closely, he noticed how their promenade had put the roses back into her cheeks, making her even more irresistible. Nearly doing a double turn, Draco wondered when he, God's gift to witches, had turned into such a bleeding pansy. This light and fuzzy sentimentality was worse than being under the Imperius Curse. Worst of all, it had him believing that it was only natural to feel this way, and no harm could befall him if he was happy as a pygmy puff. He jerked his head forward. No woman would have him rolling and squeaking like those brainless puff balls.

"It would be safer to not return to your room tonight, or it may raise suspicion from Tom," he recommended.

"What do you suggest?" Hermione asked.

"Sleep in the Slytherin rooms," Draco advised.

"Where?"

"In my bed," he responded, perfectly nonchalant.

"In your bed," Hermione stressed.

"Yes. In. My. Bed,"" Draco repeated, "Trust me, I take my hosting responsibilities very seriously." Taking tremendous pride in his sexual etiquette, he winked at her. "I ensure all guests are satisfied before serving myself."

Hermione exclaimed through her hyena laugh, "Not even a ten foot pole between us would be enough. There's not the fattest chance I'd-"

With a small wave of his hand, he said in complete confidence, "I suggest we reconvene at my bed. I am more than certain you'll warm up to the idea."

Thankful they were feet away from the castle's doors, Hermione sneered, "The only warmth will be my foot up your arse." She stomped towards the doors, muttering, "Besides, I had no intention of returning to my room."

"You didn't?" Draco asked, optimistic from the promise in her words.

"Nor to your bed," Hermione clarified, pricking his bubble.

"Then where-," he began asking when a hand muffled his voice.

"Put a sock in it," Hermione whispered, "Or Abaddon will make pies of us both." He watched her dash into the castle. Trailing behind her, he followed her to the Room of Requirements. The room they entered was severely different from their meetings. Sparsely furnished with a bed and a nightstand, it was unbearable for Draco who had lived his entire life high on the hog.

"Why did you follow?" Hermione asked through gritted teeth.

"I couldn't bear spending a night away from you, love," Draco purred, falling spread eagle onto the room's bed, relieved that their mission had gone off without a hitch.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly.

"What?" Draco said, glancing at her oddly.

"Get your shoes off my bed!" she demanded, pushing off his legs.

He groaned, kicking off his shoes lazily and stacking the pillows behind his back. Hermione seated herself at the edge of the bed, her back perfectly straight as she observed him.

"We need to be more alert," she said, trying to turn the conversation to the urgent matters at hand. "It could be either of us." She glanced at Draco, half expecting him to be doing something entirely useless like sleeping, but instead found him staring at her alertly.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he muttered, giving her a glazed look. When she did not cease looking at him, he leaned forward stressing the words, "I won't." After a momentary silence, he asked, "On another note, why is it you're avoiding the almighty prince of darkness? Don't think I didn't see you chasing him out the door." Truth be told, he hadn't seen a scrap. She glanced away quickly, and he chalked up her reaction to his belief she had been with Tom.

Knocked for six that he had diddled out her whereabouts after the party, he reprimanded her, "Mess with a Hebridean Black and you'll get fire." Her head was persistently stuck in the stand when it came to Tom Riddle; even now she was gazing at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "For goodness' sake, you're all coloured up."

"Stop talking through your hat," she said snidely, opting to stretch the truth, "We needed to schedule a meeting for the Christmas ball." She did not have the faintest clue why she was lying, but even she was at a loss to understand her actions that night. So she doled out the flawless picture of innocence, asserting, "I'm allowed one free night away from him, am I not?"

At his curt nod, she gave herself a pat on the back for succeeding in one white lie and was too busy with her own thoughts to notice the wheels turning in Draco's head. She was unable to maintain her straight face when he put forth his idea.

"We should kill him," he said bluntly.

Recovering from the shock of his words, she only managed to articulate the first words that came to mind, "Killing is not the solution."

"Why not?" he asked heatedly, "He doesn't deserve to live after all he has done."

"Two wrongs don't make a right," she said, desperately trying to change his mind.

"You can't simply paper the cracks and count on him to become nice as pie," he responded.

She retorted, "You have no right to take away his life."

"Yet he can take away yours?" he cried out, infuriated. "Or mine?" He stood up, clenching his fists. "How much are you willing to risk before you do what is right?"

"We were not sent to murder him," Hermione barked at Draco, watching as he walked forward till he was standing in front, staring down at her with one hand clasped around the bed's pole. "He could change. There is time."

"A leopard cannot change its sports," Draco said.

"You've proven otherwise," she argued.

"Granger, as much as you like seeing the good in others and keeping your nose clean, I'm calling a spade a spade. You've seen what he is capable of at our age," he snapped, "What if I hadn't been there to save you?"

"And I've thanked you," she said irately, "But fighting fire with fire is too dangerous. The future could cease to exist the moment we change it. Who knows what could happen! Another dark lord - "

"Even now you take up for him," Draco spat, "Give you the dagger, and you'll kill him with kindness." Hermione heart sank in guilt at the look of reproach on his face. "I'll do it," he said.

"You don't have it in you to kill," she stated, "Even if it's Tom Riddle." He gazed at her, his breathing laboured.

"Clearly, you don't know me too well," Draco said, his voice lacking any warmth. His eyes did not falter from hers. Gazing into the lifeless, silver depths of his eyes, she was chilled. There were skeletons in his closet he would never disclose to her, and she had to accept this.

"Then you are no better than him," she uttered in nothing more than a whisper, a slight tone of disappointment.

"I'd kill him," he resolved. Without a hint of hesitation, his formerly vacant voice was replaced by one sated with longing. "For you." She scrambled from her seat, and paced around the room. Her heart began racing, clinging to his words.

Hermione said weakly, "You don't mean it."

"The Order has sent you with no direction," he said, taking a step towards her as he attempted to drive his point home, "The words of the prophecy will not matter as long as you are Tom Riddle's equal. The more he gets, the more he'll want. He will take advantage of you to heighten his powers."

Standing near her, he took her hand into his and pressed it gently. "You aren't safe while he lives."

"No," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head, "I won't –" Draco forced his lips onto hers; kissing her thoroughly. He put everything into the kiss. Expressing what he could not speak. Pulling her closer, he cupped her cheek and left her swooning at the intensity of the kiss. He slowly released his lips, allowing them to linger against hers while listening to her slow and steady pant. His fingertips brushed her lips and he gazed into her eyes, searching for an answer. Draco had a sinking feeling it would not go as he wanted.

Hermione simply stared at him, visibly shocked. Gradually collapsing onto the bed, she regained control of her body. Speaking softly, she said, "Draco, I don't-"

"You kissed me at the party." He stood back, in mixed disbelief and anger.

"As a friend," she explained, "I would have done the same to Harry or Ron." Draco was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his outburst was proof enough that he was not pulling her leg.

"On the lips?" he demanded. Tongue-tied, Hermione regretted kissing him earlier. She was horrified about not recognizing his affections sooner, and felt herself shrinking under his perpetual glare.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said genuinely. She bit her lip nervously, realizing how harsh and unforgiving her response sounded when he insisted she could sleep in his bed. A ten feet pole! She should have been wiser at picking her words. Feeling at fault, Hermione could not bear the turmoil in his appearance as he paced the room. No words could pour oil on these troubled waters.

"I don't need your pity," Draco said, treading heavily towards the door. He did not have the fortitude to be rejected, particularly after assuming her kiss had put him on the fast track.

Hermione quelled to stop him from leaving. Withstanding his forceful struggle to the best of her ability, she grabbed his arm and held on to it.

"Abaddon will catch you," Hermione advised, "Don't be such a fool." At the absurdity of her final statement, he scoffed and glared at her hand on his arm. He already felt like one.

"Stay," she pleaded.

He recoiled from her, "Accio pillow." Begrudged and clutching the pillow, he hurled it down before sprawling across the floor, facing the wall. Hermione sighed, placing a blanket lightly at his feet. She turned off the lights in the room with a flick of her wand.

Returning to her bed, she muttered, "Goodnight." When he didn't respond, she pulled the covers over her head.

For the rest of the night, Hermione couldn't get a wink of sleep. Tossing and turning, she fretted over Draco's avowal to kill Riddle. Only the reminder of the disdain etched into his face prevented her from waking him, and begging not to strive ahead with his plans. Hopeful it was no more than Draco trying to show his mettle,she forced herself to believe actions spoke louder than words. That being said, she had a hunch this was one tiff they would not recover from so quickly. All civility fostered in recent weeks would be to hell and gone once Draco discovered her interest in Tom was culminating into more than a trivial crush.

At the crack of dawn, a disgruntled Hermione marched towards the Head rooms, wrought up from last night's quarrel. Barely an hour into her sleep, he had rudely reawakened her by storming out of the room and slamming the door. She had mucked up royally, and would have to take the consequences in stride.

She entered the common room and found her despotic roommate sitting in his usual black leather arm chair. Riddle watched her with narrowed eyes; his steepled long bone-white fingers reached his chin in contemplation. From the dark rings under his eyes, he certainly had been burning the midnight oil studying or scheming. Most likely the latter, she presumed.

"Long night?" she asked, her voice faltering as his glare refused to lift off her even a bit. She was quite convinced his truculent behaviour towards her had sadly resumed. He approached with folded arms, his eyes rampant with questions.

"Fine," Hermione said, frustrated when he did not bother to reply, "Why don't we skip the banal small talk." Perplexed, her eyes raised questionably when he proceeded to poke his wand at the cloak she carried.

The tip of his wand hoisted the snake clasp. "Slytherin," he said, the word dripping with venom. With fastidious displeasure, his eyes strayed to the mud-spattered extremities of her nightgown, partially covered with chips of wood.

"A promenade with Devereux past curfew," Tom assumed in a glacial tone. Hermione kicked herself mentally for not having tidied her gown prior to entering. Ironically, she had been too lost in thought reflecting on the man standing before her, and the other who had kissed her against her will.

"I noticed Devereux earlier," Tom said in a tone bordering on rage, walking to a table and shuffling his parchments. "Odd isn't it? He was rushing towards the Slytherin rooms."

The third degree. Hermione had not anticipated anything less from the head boy, but quite frankly she was not in the mood for the Spanish Inquisition.

"Yes," she snapped in her state of delirium, throwing her hands up in defeat, "I was frolicking in the woods with Draco." The sheets in his hand fell limp on the table. His head swerved in her direction and his eyes flamed with vengeance. She would later wonder what in the devil's name had inspired her to not care one whit about the latent impact of this declaration on his anger. Despite feeling herself burning to a cinder under his stare, she asked, "What other piquant details of my life do you care to know?"

Lacking good judgment on the proper reaction to this morsel of information, Tom picked up a stack of textbooks from the table, digging his fingertips into their hinges and fore edges. One thing was certain; he did not want to physically hurt her. Exhaling loudly, he dropped the books back onto the table with a resonant thump.

"You've chosen him?" he spat. He stared fixedly at the table, feeling a sense of incredulity, fury and pain at the unprecedented calamity of his cards not being played in his favour. Turning towards the culprit of his heartache, he hissed, "Stupid girl."

"What I do is none of your concern," she retorted.

"Everything you do concerns me," he mumbled in a deadly tone, "Your folly included."

"How can you expect me to feel for you? You're incapable of trusting others and haven't shown the slightest inclination you could possibly love any being besides yourself."

"And so you've given yourself to Devereux?" Tom said, "I figured you'd be more prudent, de Lioncourt. Never the rose without the prick."

"I do not belong to anyone," she informed him.

In a scream of primal fury, he bellowed, "You spent the night with him." He trembled with anger, his eyes bulging and his jaw clamped together tightly. The bookcases behind him vibrated. Rare as it was to hear him yell, she wasn't sure what was more shocking; the grandeur of his anger or the fact that she was the cause.

"Unsubstantiated assumptions," Hermione responded. "He kissed me," she blurted, making him cringe, "And he ended up sleeping on the floor the entire night. I trust you're not too thick to put two and two together." His brow rose at her sudden willingness to divulge these intricacies after a long, restless night which had caused him such grief. Little by little, a mixture of relief and pride overcame his expression.

Lifting her chin up, Hermione stomped to her room, but was caught off balance when Tom cut in. He shoved a weightless, velvet sachet into her hands, muttering, "You misplaced this the other day." Without another word, he swiftly left.

Entering her room, she slammed the door behind her. At long last, she was permitted to sink head first into her despair. Abandoning herself to the comfort of her bed, she sprawled her body along the snug duvet, letting out a long, feral groan.

She buried her head into the pillows, hiding her face in shame and blaming the gods of love for her circumstances. For all her years at Hogwarts, she had yearned for a love akin to Ginny and Harry. She might be overly studious, but even she could not resist fantasies of true love. Coming to the past, she had not imagined it would pour when it rained, particularly when least desired. Feeling susceptible to this unfamiliar territory, rather than handling it maturely, her emotions were under siege. If anyone had told her several months in advance that Draco Malfoy and Tom Riddle would develop a soft spot for her, she would have thought they were off their rocker.

Hermione was at crossroads, and yet it was difficult to accept how she was leaning towards Tom, the greater of two evils, rather than Draco, She very well knew it was better the devil she knew than the devil she didn't, and so she very much wanted to find it in herself to return Draco's feelings.

Hermione peered over her back at the package Tom had handed her. Her arm stretched over her back to grab it and pulled the drawstring of the sachet. She retrieved the lone item inside and all thoughts of Draco were instantly driven out of her mind upon recognizing the hair band lost the night Tom attacked her. Having searched the classroom from top to bottom, she had given up all hope of recovering the precious gift bestowed by her mother following her acceptance into Hogwarts.

Her fingertips glided over the ornate hair band and she found herself more muddled than ever. She was fairly certain it had been broken. Out of nowhere an idea struck her and hot as Hades, it fell from her hands.

Tom had fixed it for her. He had returned that night. For the second time in the same night, Hermione found herself contemplating whether Tom Riddle was indeed capable of feeling.

Guilt.

Sorry for the wait! I got a job offer the day after posting the last chapter. I was supposed to move several thousand miles a few days ago, but instead I've had 2 weeks of ups and downs. I'm probably leaving soon (fingers crossed). I don't know when I'll be able to post next. It's a busy time but I'll do my best. I'm not abandoning the fic!

It was hard writing this chapter. I think I've read it so many times that I hate it. Lol. Minus the last part with Tom. Hope you enjoyed it!

It's great to hear about which moments you liked best. Thanks for reading and those who reviewed!

Blue Wonderland (thanks for the ideas!), ckatherine, RedCloudWitch (I don't have any plans on Hermione meeting someone from the Potter family so far. In terms of their actions affecting the future, that would be too much to reveal heheh), AnimeMangaFreak, XellamyBB (yea, I also find it hard to keep track of all the stories I read!! I have to reread this one to remember what I'm writing), meeshell72, michelada89(now that they're fighting, Tom has a chance to make his move so don't worry, there's more Tom coming up), ravenm721, seriana14 (Draco better start getting on her good side if he wants to take her to the ball), missmeliss09, crazikido2, nicole317, JEN-SVU, Karleen, Right or Ryn, seduced by moonlight, psalmofsummer (Hermione is one of those girls who is clueless about how she makes a guy feel, and luckily this means juicer scenes), She Isn't Here, sweet-tang-honney, iloveebfanfics, Malfoys Love Weasleys (lol at your review, Draco had more than 4 lines this time. And a kiss!), lima, Enchanting Breeze, Passing-Glance (there are many more plot bunnies ahead), Chelseabaabyox3